


Cabin Fever

by rock_chick



Category: Supernatural RPS
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, sex on drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2012-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-09 03:07:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rock_chick/pseuds/rock_chick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen's been looking forward to his weekend alone with Jeff at his lakeside cabin for weeks, he had... <i>plans</i>, and now he's gonna spoil it all by being ill, dammit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cabin Fever

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in the [Jeff/Jensen Hurt/Comfort Comment Fic & Art Meme](http://jeff-jensen.livejournal.com/34649.html?thread=32857#t32857) at [](http://jeff-jensen.livejournal.com/profile)[**jeff_jensen**](http://jeff-jensen.livejournal.com/) for [](http://embroiderama.livejournal.com/profile)[**embroiderama**](http://embroiderama.livejournal.com/)'s prompt _Cabin-fic! You know, that whole thing where Jeff has a cabin somewhere and has invited Jensen to stay there. In an AU where neither of them have wives/girlfriends but otherwise things are the same, Jensen takes him up on the offer to relax there after some stressful filming. Jensen ends up getting sick, and Jeff takes care of him, in the midst of which they admit their feelings for each other._

If he's honest, Jensen's been feeling odd all day. He tries to shrug it off; put it down to the stress he's been under lately -- not like there hasn't been a whole rash of nasty little physical symptoms to underline the fact that his mind and body have really, seriously, had enough -- but somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows what's coming. His head feels strange; not exactly spacey, he can concentrate well enough to be safe driving. But just not _normal_. He pops a couple of headache pills at the gas station when he takes a break, hoping that will do the trick, but as the afternoon wears on and he gets closer to his destination, the headache is worsening and his vision has started to go weird. By the time he arrives, Jeff coming out to greet him looks like a 2D cardboard cut-out, sharply outlined against the flattened backdrop of his cabin.

He tries to pass it off to Jeff as exhaustion, and opts to snooze on the porch swing out back while Jeff fixes dinner, still trying to make himself believe that it's just a bad headache, and that those ibuprofen will start working any moment. Yeah, right.

 

He's woken from his doze by Jeff calling him in to dinner, and his last hope of getting over this, of slipping it past Jeff, disappears when the smell of bolognese sauce makes him turn bright green and reel back out to lean over the railing, gagging as he tries to keep his stomach contents where they are.

Fuck it all, he's been looking forward to this for weeks, he had... _plans_ , and now he's gonna spoil it all by having a full-on migraine.

"Jensen, fuck... what's up, man?" Jeff follows him out, sounding worried.

Jensen scrubs at his forehead with one hand, trying to push the pain away. He swallows against the nausea and manages to groan out something incoherent.

"Sorry, dude, I didn't get that. Say again?"

Christ, Jeff's voice is too goddamn _loud_. Jensen winces pathetically. "Migraine," he whispers.

Jeff hears him that time, and --thank fuck-- it looks like he has some experience with sufferers, because he stops talking beyond anything absolutely necessary, and Jensen finds himself gently but efficiently steered into a bedroom, and left to strip down to his underwear and pull back the comforter while Jeff carefully and quietly closes the shutters.

"Pills?" Jeff asks.

Jensen is already rummaging around in his wallet for the emergency Tylenol-3, so by the time Jeff comes back with water, he's ready to swallow the pills he should've taken hours ago if he hadn't been on the road -- or so stubborn. When he lies down, the movement makes his head spin and pound, and he moans in pain, screwing up his eyes against it.

"Anything else I can do?" Jensen can feel Jeff lean over him, a big, warm hand pressed into his shoulder. It feels _good_ , as much as anything can feel good right now. Reassuring. For a second, he wants Jeff to lean down further, wants to feel his breath, his lips, but that's no longer on the table for tonight... if it ever was.

"No," he whispers. "Later, maybe."

Jeff squeezes his shoulder, then gets up and leaves, almost silently. Jensen burrows into the pillow and prepares to endure until the drugs kick in.

 

He manages to doze a little as the pain slowly ebbs away, spaced out by the migraine and the painkillers equally, and he snuggles in the warm cocoon of Jeff's bed, unaware of time passing. (Definitely Jeff's bed, he can smell him in it. Not that he's smushing his face into the pillow to chase Jeff's smell, of course. It's the _drugs_.) The next thing he's aware of is the sound of footsteps approaching down the short hallway. It's full dark outside now, no thin lines of light around the edges of the shutters, and as Jeff quietly eases the door open, warm, gentle lamplight floods in from the rest of the cabin. It doesn't hurt his eyes, so he can tell he's fully medicated; relief floods through him so strongly that it feels more like euphoria, and he has the strangest desire to giggle. Codeine, yeah. It's the shit.

"Jense," Jeff stage-whispers, "you awake?"

"Mmmm-hmmm."

Jeff creeps in and perches carefully on the edge of the bed.

"How you doin', man?"

"Better. The drugs are good."

Jeff huffs out a laugh. "I need to get the fold-out bed out of the closet in here, sorry. My couch isn't long enough to sleep on."

"Izzat gonna be loud?" Jensen groans at Jeff's affirmative. "Screw that, dude. Can't take noise. Just get in here, will ya?"

Jeff snorts. "You know, if you need a cuddle, you could just say so."

Jensen worms one hand free of the covers and reaches over to pinch Jeff, then snuggles back down and dozes while Jeff potters around quietly, getting ready for bed.

He carefully doesn't think about the _other_ ways he's been wanting to get Jeff into bed with him. No good thinking about that now. Even though the dip of the bed as Jeff gets in makes him want, very badly, to roll over and curl up against him.

 

When Jensen is next aware --aware, not awake; he hasn't really been asleep, just floating on the codeine-- he realizes he urgently needs to pee. He hauls himself clumsily out of bed and lumbers towards the bathroom, glad that he'd worked out its location from Jeff's earlier ablutions. His co-ordination is for shit, so there's a fair amount of banging around before he gets where he's going, and halfway through his racehorse-grade piss, it occurs to him that the door is wide open behind him, and after all that noise, Jeff's probably awake... Uhh, whatever. His brain's not working well enough to remember why that would be bad, or inappropriate. Or something.

He staggers back to bed, a little woozy from all the movement, and crawls in face-first until he meets up with a big, warm, good-smelling heap of Jeff, and wraps himself around it. Jeff makes a surprised, groggy noise that might be Jensen's name, but doesn't protest being mauled, and Jensen finally falls into a real sleep.

 

It feels like the early hours when Jensen wakes up, and he's got to the stage where the codeine is buzzing through him, fizzing under his skin, prickling almost. His cock is fully hard and squashed against Jeff's hip, and his brain is floating somewhere around Jupiter. At some point, Jeff has turned towards him in his sleep, and has got his arms around him. Jensen can't lie still, twitching antsily against Jeff until he stirs. He's vaguely aware, half-guilty, that he doesn't have any right to be squirming around and rubbing his erection on Jeff, no matter how good it feels, but there's a disconnect between his brain and his body, and he can't seem to make himself stop. Everything feels fuzzy and unreal and amazing, and when Jeff rolls up and over him, he makes a desperate, pleading little noise. He hears Jeff's voice like it's coming from miles away, and the words don't make any sense; but the hand on his ass is real and immediate, pulling Jensen in, urging his hips to move faster and harder until the buzzing under his skin shakes him all the way apart, and the last thing he takes down with him is the feeling of his nails digging into the meat of Jeff's shoulders, his own cry ringing too loud in his ears.

 

The next time Jensen wakes, the sun is creeping in around the shutters, and his brain seems to be mostly back from its interplanetary expedition, albeit a little blurry around the edges. He feels safe and warm and ridiculously happy, the latter being apparently related to a thick hairy arm wrapped securely around his middle, and a beard tickling the back of his neck. He luxuriates in the feeling until he realizes that the inside of his shorts is a flaky, itchy mess, glued to his dick. It all comes back to him, in flashes; himself all grabby and desperate, rubbing off against Jeff in the middle of the night. He goes cold all over. Jesus Christ, what has he done? They're not _together_. And probably never will be, now. Jeff didn't _consent_. Oh, fuck, how could he have done that?

He jolts, horrified, and tries to climb out of the bed, to get away, but failing when the arms around him tighten and hold him back.

"That freak-out you're trying to have? Unnecessary."

"But..."

"No buts." Jeff hauls Jensen tighter into his body. "You needed it, and I was more than happy to help."

"I... But I didn't ask you, I just..."

"I didn't need asking, sweetheart, we were already on the same page. Why do you think I invited you up here for the weekend?" He pauses for a beat. "And why didn't I get the fold-out bed outta the closet in advance?" Jeff nibbles the back of his neck. "Also? You're kinda hilarious when you're stoned off your tits. Now settle the fuck _down_. 'M on holiday. Get ta lie-in."

Jensen relaxes back into Jeff's arms, bemused, and considers sending a fruit-basket to whoever invented Tylenol.


End file.
